


A Huntress in the King of Hell's Court

by CrashDevil (cjdevlin19)



Series: SPNauBingo Entries [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breeding, F/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 17:49:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16707136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjdevlin19/pseuds/CrashDevil
Summary: Rowena sends y/n forward in time where Dean is Michael and Sam is the King of Hell. She just wants to go back.





	A Huntress in the King of Hell's Court

You would forever hate Rowena. Her son might have been lawful evil, but Rowena was chaotic. You should have known better than to trust her, but you needed help with a spell and it wasn't like you could go to the Grand Coven for help, anymore. Too bad she was holding a grudge against you for some shit you did back in the beginning of your hunter career. There was no way that a simple locator spell sent you tumbling forward in time on _accident_ , the witch had to have done it on purpose. 

Luckily, things didn’t seem all that different in 2019 than they were in 2015, so it's not like you were completely out of your element. The first thing you did was head for the bunker. Cars were just as easy to break into and nothing seemed too messed up, except the fact that President Trump was a thing, and you were excited to see the giant iron door still standing. That meant the boys had to be inside, or would be soon. 

You weren't expecting a whole bunch of people you'd never seen before to be mulling around the War Room and the Library. You stopped at the top of the spiral staircase and gawked. “Who the hell are you?” A familiar voice called from the middle of the crowd, which split down the middle so the old man could move forward.

“Bobby?”

“Yeah. I know you?”

“Uh… you _did_ , but… you're dead.” You looked at him, warily, as you started down the stairs.

“So are you.” A familiar gravel tone said, coming in from the hallway.

“Cas! Oh, thank god!” You rushed down the rest of the stairs before coming to a stop at the bottom. “Wait, I'm dead?”

“How far in the past are you from?” Castiel asked, leading you away from the map table to sit near the telescope.

“Uh, 2015. Sam and Dean asked me and Char to find the Book of the Damned and she went off to Europe and I thought to get this witch bitch, Rowena, to do a location spell to find it and she insisted that I needed to be in the room and then I was here. Well, in Chicago, but whatever. Who are all these people and what's with Bizarro Bobby? Where are Dean and Sam?”

Cas looked uncomfortable, avoiding your gaze as he looked over at the strangers behind him. “These are hunters from an alternate version of Earth where Sam and Dean were not able to stop the Apocalypse because they were never born. We rescued them and brought them here.”

You keyed in, immediately, on Cas’ avoidance. “Where are the boys, Cas?”

“A lot has happened since you've been gone. It's not-”

“Is it the Mark? Did Dean become a demon again? Did he kill Sam? Cas, what's going on?”

“Sam and the witch, Rowena, relieved Dean of the Mark of Cain. That is no longer a concern. However…” Castiel sighed and turned his eyes to you. “The alternate version of the Archangel Michael also found his way to our universe. Lucifer was going to kill Sam and Michael was the only one who had strength enough to end the Devil, once and for all, so-”

“Dean said ‘yes’?” You exclaimed. The Other-World hunters in the War Room turned their attention to you but you just continued to look at the angel in shock.

“Yes… and Sam, he… he lost himself trying to get Dean out of Michael's grasp. He turned to demons, to demon blood, for power. He has taken over as the new King of Hell.”

“What?!” You stared into the angel's eyes. “Please tell me this is a cruel joke. Cas, tell me it's a lie.”

Cas’ lips came together in a thing line. “I'm sorry. I know how you cared for them.”

You waited for the shock to dissipate, for it to be replaced by anger or sadness, but all that came was numbness. “Oh, my god.” You whispered.

“Come on, y/n. I'm certain we can find a place for you to rest.” Cas said, an attempt at soothing you.

You shook your head. “Nah, I'm good. There’s too many strangers in the house… and I guess I'm one of ‘em. I'll hit the Motel 6 on the interstate. You can hit me up there if you need.” You stood and rushed away from him, taking the spiral stairs two at a time to get out of the bunker as fast as possible.

Sam was King of Hell, which meant Crowley was dead so you couldn't go to him for information. Dean was stuck as Michael's meat suit and Sam was on demon blood again. Rowena had fucked you out of four years and you hadn't been there to help them with getting the Mark off of Dean, or whatever happened to release Lucifer back into the world again and you would never forgive the witch.

You were on the internet, trying to catch up on the world, when a knock came to your door. You stood, pulling your gun from the back of your waistband and cautiously answering it. A tall, skinny man with dark black hair stood on the other side. “Y/n y/l/n?”

“Who's asking?”

“Sam Winchester requests your presence.” His eyes flashed black and you slammed the door, rushing for the salt you had in the go bag you'd thrown together when you popped up in Chicago. You didn’t make it to the bag, the demon popping up in front of you and grabbing your arm. “I don’t know who you think you are, but we don’t leave the King waiting.”

You punched him in the face, but it didn’t do anything. The world span and you felt like you’d been punched in the gut. You fell to your knees, completely overwhelmed by the transportation. The demon yanked you to your feet and started to force you toward the porch of the two-story cottage. His hand wrapped into your hair as he opened the door and pushed you through it. Other demons moved out of his way as he marched you through a foyer and stopped, knocking on a hardwood door. 

“Enter.” A dark and barely recognizable voice called. You swallowed nervously as the demon swung the door open and pushed you into a sitting room with warm lighting and a fire blazing in the fireplace. Sam Winchester sat in a cream-colored chair next to the fire, a book in his hands. He had a brown plaid shirt on and jeans. He looked just like Sam should, except the scruff normally on his cheeks and chin that had bloomed into a full-blown beard. He smiled when the demon pushed you into the room, causing you to stumble to a stop in front of Sam. “Y/n. Did Logan hurt you?” He set his book on the the shelf next to his chair and stood.

You ran your hand through your hair where the demon had tugged it. “I don’t really think it was necessary to pull my hair.” 

Sam’s face went dark, focusing at the demon standing in the doorway. “I _told_ you not to harm her.” 

“I-I didn’t mean t-” 

Sam put his hand up and clenched his fist and the demon seemed to choke on his words. “I don’t want your excuses, Logan. I gave you an order and I expected it to be followed.”

“Sam!” You cried as black smoke started to pull from the demon. You didn’t care about the demon, but you didn’t like the look on Sam’s face as he pulled it apart. “It wasn’t that bad!”

Sam turned his eyes on you and, after a moment, he uncurled his fingers from the fist. “You should thank her. She just saved your life.” 

The demon, Logan, looked to you as he took a deep breath. “Thank you.” 

“Now, leave us.” Sam demanded. Logan didn’t waste a second leaving the room and slamming the door behind him. Sam walked around you, assessing you with a discomforting intensity. “You know, I didn’t believe it when they described you, when they told me who had showed up at the bunker, and when they sent the picture to prove it… I thought you must be a ghoul, a shifter, _something_ , but you walked into a bunker full of hunters and walked right back out without a scratch. It’s really you, isn’t it?”

You nodded. “It’s me.”

“Where have you been?”

“Rowena, she fucked me over on a spell, sent me four years into the future.”

Sam nodded. “She’s gotten better over the past few years. Being murdered a few times will change a woman.” 

“Maybe she’d be willing to send me back, then.” You whispered, as Sam wrapped his hands around your upper arms.

He smiled and shook his head. “No. You never made it back to your right time, y/n. Just like my grandfather. You either _stay_ here in the future, or you die in the future.”

“Sam.”

“You missed so much, y/n.”

“Cas filled me in a bit.” Your words were flat in your mouth, your focus fractured by the simple fact that Sam Winchester was holding you, his large hands keeping you in place.

“So, you know about Dean?” You nodded. “It’s a damn shame.”

You flinched at the words. “That’s a cavalier way to characterize the situation.”

Sam smiled. “You’re still in shock about it. You’ll get cavalier about it, eventually, too. You’ll get pissed off about it, first, though.” He squeezed your arms. “Thinking about how stupid Dean was to let Michael in, to trust that Michael would let him have control back after they killed Lucifer together.”

“That’s… he really thought an Archangel would pull out after finally getting its true vessel?”

Sam nodded, still smiling. “See, there’s the anger. You’re getting through it a lot faster than me. I drove myself crazy for months trying to get Dean back. I'd’ve given anything to get Dean back. But I knew… longer Michael had him, less likely it was that Dean was coming back. So, eventually, it stopped being a rescue mission and became a war against the bastard that killed my brother.” He let your arms go and stepped back. “Of course, if you're going to fight a war, you need an army. Cas gave me the idea for the demons. He came to the for information back when Michael had only been in Dean for a few weeks. There was this little bitch of a demon trying to establish himself as the new king. I killed him, told his lackeys there wasn’t going to be a new king, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made for _me_ to take over.”

He sat in his recliner and pointed at the one on the other side of the fireplace. You took the seat, but didn’t relax into it. “Do you remember how powerful I was when Ruby was grooming me to take Lucifer? When I was being set up to take the throne?”

“When you were downing demon blood like a crack addict and lying to me and Dean every day?” You reminded, as gently as you could.

He smirked and you wished you could see his dimples on the other side of that beard, but you couldn’t, not the way you would’ve liked, anyway. “When I was powerful enough to kill ancient demons with a _thought_. That power never went away, just went dormant until I got my teeth in a demon again.” You shuddered at the thought, remembering his face covered in blood when he attacked the demons holding Jimmy Novak’s family hostage. “I’m more powerful than I’ve ever been.”

“You’re also addicted to demon blood again, Sam. You’re in charge of Hell. You’re… beardy.” He laughed and it was almost a warming sound. It almost took your apprehension away. Almost. “Sam, why am I here? Why did you have your… _man_ grab me?”

“Because I needed to see you. For me, you’ve been gone for years.” He scratched his beard. “Long enough for me to know what I was missing.”

“What?”

“You. I was missing you.”

Your eyes went wide. “What?”

“I never realized how big your eyes get when you’re surprised.” He leaned forward. “But why are you surprised? I thought you’d be happy. You always seemed to have a bit of a thing for me.”

“Because you always ignored the fact that I had a bit of a thing for you… and you’re… you’re the junkie King of Hell now.”

Sam tilted his head and gave a slight grimace. “Not a junkie.” 

“Beg to differ. How much are you drinking on the daily, Sam?”

“As much as I can. Blood is power.”

“And power corrupts.” You chided.

“Do I seem _corrupted_ to you?” He asked, leaning forward.

“You’re surrounded by _demons_ , dude. You’re drinking demon blood again. You’ve stopped trying to save Dean. You had me kidnapped. You don’t think you’re corrupted?”

Sam stood and walked to the door, hand on the knob. “You can leave. I’ll have Logan take you back. Of course, if _I_ know you’re here, Michael probably does, too. You’re protected from him, here, but I wouldn’t want to keep you here without your consent.”

“Why would Michael even notice me?”

“He hates humans, he hates hunters, he hates anything that Dean and I cared about. And you… full of new energy… or really old energy. You’re not supposed to be here. He’ll key in on that. Now, I’m not saying that Michael killing you is the reason you never made it back to 2015, but…” He shrugged.

“Sam, I’m not going anywhere.” You said, softly, scooting back against the back of the chair and making Sam smile. “I’m just worried about you.” 

“Of course you are.” He moved away from the door. “You hungry? I could have somebody get us something to snack on.”

“Food provided by demons. I’m super excited for that prospect.” You said, sarcastically.

“They’re not that bad. Come on, you just saved one of ‘em.”

“Because your eyes were all dark and creepy and I didn’t want to see you like that.” You said, honestly. “I’m not fond of demons, Sam.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I’m _not_ a demon.” Sam moved to stand in front of you. “I’m not any different than the Sam you left in 2015, y/n. I just… can appreciate you, now.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you up into his arms. “Let me appreciate you.”

You swallowed, looking up into his hazel eyes. They seemed darker than you remembered them being and it wasn’t the lighting. His Royal Highness, King of Hell, Samuel Winchester was dark. Why didn’t that turn you off?

“What are you offering, King Sam?”

“Everything you could want.” He promised, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“And if I want you to save Dean instead of killing him?” 

Sam smiled, almost like he’d expected that answer. “We can talk about that later. I’ll consider it… for you.” He grabbed your hand. “But first, let’s eat.” He led you through the farmhouse to a dining room with a large oak table. You evaluated every line of Sam’s face as he directed the closest demon to get food. He looked happy, which was such a good look for him, but still… how could he be happy in this situation?

Sam filled you in on what happened after you disappeared from 2015 as you waited for food. Charlie dying, the Mark releasing the Darkness, who was God’s sister. God was Chuck, the Darkness brought Mary Winchester back to life, and the Light and the Darkness fled the galaxy, but damage had been done. Lucifer was out and without fear of his father interfering.

“So, none of this would’ve happened if Cas hadn’t said ‘yes’ to Lucifer? Apocalypse World would have stayed there, the nephil Jack wouldn’t exist, Michael never would’ve taken Dean, you never would’ve taken Hell… it all could’ve been avoided if Cas hadn’t been feeling expendable?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Ridiculous. Wish I could go back and fix it.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t. You don’t make it back and nothing can be changed, anyway.”

After we were done eating, a demon walked up and whispered in Sam’s ear. “Yeah. That’s good. Thank you.” He responded, waving the demon away.

You raised an eyebrow. You’d caught part of that. “Did he just call me your consort?”

Sam waved it off with a scoff. “Yeah. Most of these demons are a couple hundred years old. They insist on certain terms and royal propriety. It’s no big deal.”

“I know what a consort is, Sam.” You snapped. “What does the King of Hell need with heirs?”

Sam smiled and patted your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

“‘Don’t worry about it’? Sam, these demons think I’m here to get knocked up by their king! What-”

His eyes went dark as he stood, hand squeezing your shoulder. “I _said_ don’t worry.”

“Sam, please talk to me. I’m getting scared.”

He sighed and turned away. “So, Cain tracked down every living member of every branch of his bloodline, which is amazing and a whole lot of people. He was killing them, of course, because they had the hearts of murderers. Hearts of warriors. It’s a special bloodline, y/n. That bloodline is why Dean and I ended up vessels.” You watched him as he ran his hand up to tuck his hair behind his ear. “We thought you were dead, y/n, because when Cain started killing whole families… the y/l/n family was one of the first.”

“What?” you whispered, your eyes going wide.

“Yeah. Your cousins, uncles and aunts, father… we thought that your body would turn up eventually.” He turned back to you. “Sorry.”

“My dad, too?” You shook your head, sadly. “But what does that-”

“Bloodline,” he explained. “Cain’s powerful bloodline… runs through my veins, runs through yours, too. Together, we could make some… powerful assets.”

“What?”

He nodded, smiling. “A battalion of Winchesters with demon blood powers. We could beat Michael and his army of monsters.”

“Are you… _what_?”

“You and me, we’re gonna make a small army, take down an archangel.”

“Sam, I don’t want kids, not like this.”

He sighed, walking back to you and wrapping you in a loose hug. “Y/n, I was really hoping you'd just get on board with this. I don't want to hurt you.” His embrace tightened, pulling you against him so hard it was almost suffocating. “But I will if it means taking down Michael.”

“Sam,” you groaned, grabbing at his shirt. “stop. Please. Stop.”

“Don’t worry, babe. We can get you in the mood.” He pulled back enough to let you breathe and put his hand out. “Had Rowena whip up a batch of supernatural Spanish Fly for us when I heard you were alive.”

“Rowena’s working with you?”

“She either does what I want or I kill her” he said, as a bottle flew into his hand. “It’s a pretty beneficial relationship, actually. I mean, eventually, I’ll kill her, anyway, but for now… she does good things for me.”

“Sam, please.”

He ignored your pleas, pulling the cork from the bottle with his teeth and spitting it over your head. “Drink it, y/n. Don’t make me force it down your fuckin’ throat.” He pressed the bottle to your lips and you looked up into his eyes. There was no softness, no leeway, no getting out of doing what King Sam wanted. You slowly wrapped your lips around the neck of the bottle and drank it down. It was bitter, making you shiver at the taste, but its effects were almost immediate, a warmth spreading from your throat throughout your body. You fisted your hands in his flannel as your legs seemed to turn to jelly. He smiled as your heart started to pound. “We should probably get upstairs. Unless you wanna conceive the first round of kids in the dining room.”

All the answer you could give was a moan. He smirked as he picked you up and walked to the staircase, taking you into a large bedroom and dropping you on the bed. “Best thing about aphrodisiacs is I don’t have to waste time with foreplay.”

“Are you in a hurry, Sam?” A flat voice near the closet asked, causing Sam’s eyes to snap up and his body to tense. “Humans tend to take quite a while to create. Even if you accelerated her gestation, it would be years before you could possibly hope to harm me.”

“Michael.” Sam growled. “How did you get in here?”

“Oh, one of your…” Michael gestured widely with his right hand as you tried to get your body to cooperate enough to sit up and look at the archangel. “...subjects let me in, after he expressed concern for your plan and what a _family_ would mean for the future of Hell. I do love demons. They’ll always fuck you over in the end.”

“D-dean. Is he, uh, in there?” you managed to ask.

“Unfortunately,” Michael answered. “he is. I have tried to sequester him, but he does break out every once in a while. He’s deeply distressed at Sam’s plan.”

“He’s lying, y/n. Dean would want us to destroy Michael.”

“And what does the girl want?” Michael asked, stepping closer.

“I just want to go home.”

“You _can’t_.” Sam insisted. “You never made it back, y/n.”

“She might not make it back to the year she was taken from, but she can go _back_. Do you want that, y/n?” Michael offered.

“Yes,” you said, pulling yourself to your feet. “send me back.”

Michael reached forward, pulling you with his grace to kneel in front of him. Sam shouted your name as the archangel placed his hand to your forehead and you were sent hurling through time. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adjusting to life in 1952 was easier than you expected. Sure, women weren’t treated very well and the social injustices that were everyday occurrences kinda got you down and you missed the internet like you would never have believed, but… it was almost peaceful. Pre-Azazel opening the Devil’s Gate, pre-Sam letting Lucifer out of his Cage, pre-angels dying and Leviathans trying to eat the world… there weren’t a lot of demons to hunt, just monsters and spirits and that was so simple. 

“I just don’t understand how a woman like you ended up a hunter.” 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Henry.” You shook your head at the hazel-eyed Men of Letters novitiate who handed you the folder with the information for your hunt.

“I don’t think I’d have much problem, Mildred. I’m fairly sharp, if I say so, myself.”

You rolled your eyes. You had easily assumed the identity of a girl named Mildred Anne Bennett, who died when she was three, stealing her birth certificate and social. You weren’t fond of the name, but it was your best option. “I asked that you call me ‘Millie’, Henry.”

“And I asked you not to be so forward. I know you hunters are a bit rough, but we barely know each other and calling you that would be… familiar.”

“It’s not a-a pet name, it’s a nickname. There’s a difference. I don’t like to be called ‘Mildred’.”

“Well, I think ‘Mildred’ is a beautiful name. It suits you.” 

You raised an eyebrow and turned to him. 1950s flirting was low-key and you were constantly impressed by how smooth some men were. “Did you just call me beautiful?” you asked, biting the inside of your cheek. “You don’t think that’s too familiar?”

He smiled. “No. I don’t believe it is, and if it were, maybe we should have dinner so that we can get familiar with each other.”

“Well, that’s an interesting proposition, Henry, but I don’t even know your surname. I couldn’t possibly accept a dinner invitation with some handsome Man of Letters who hasn’t even shared that small bit of personal information with me.”

“Henry Watelford Winchester.” Your mouth dropped open and he chuckled. “Yes, I know. ‘Watelford’ is a family name.”

You licked your lips and smiled as you tried to remember anything you could about Sam and Dean’s grandparents. _‘Far as we know, Dad hadn’t heard from our grandma for years. I checked it out after Dad died and there’s a Mildred Winchester in Maine who fits the right age and all, but... I don’t… I don’t know if she knows anything about this stuff, so I never called.’_ Sam’s words from several years ago rang in your head, making you scoff. There really was no changing anything.

“Well, Henry ‘I’m-never-calling-you-Watelford’ Winchester… you can pick me up at the Day-Z motel at 6 tonight, room 15.” 

“Splendid.”

In the coming years, you tried not to let knowing what was coming affect your life. Your marriage to Henry that was such a surprise to all of his friends and the Men of Letters who didn’t understand how he could have fallen for a huntress, your pregnancy that followed quickly after (which you didn’t let Henry know you were having a son, or that you’d name him ‘John’), when it came time for the Men of Letters Initiation Ceremony that you knew Henry wouldn’t come back from (when you wanted to beg him to stay but knew you couldn’t change it), when you moved to Lawrence, Kansas and got a job working at an auto shop to care for John, and when you taught that boy everything you knew about cars. 

When John asked you to sign the papers so that he could go into the Marines a little early because they needed boots on the ground in Vietnam and he just wanted to help, though, you didn’t want to sign. You signed despite the fact that you didn’t want him anywhere near the firefight. You knew he would survive. He’d survive, come back, meet Mary Campbell and grant you with two grandsons… and everything would go to Hell from there.

But there was no changing it. You just counted yourself lucky that you were able to live a full life before the Apocalypse… and hoped you were dead before either of your grandsons said ‘yes’.


End file.
